This Is The Way The World Ends
by lullabyemyuu
Summary: After a terrorist attack on the nations leaves them all grief-stricken and shattered, they must find a way to hide from their own people as the world falls down around them.
1. Prologue

_(a/n Hey, everyone, sorry for my brief hiatus! I promise I'll update Two Kings soon, but I've been incredibly busy lately._

_ So here's the first chapter of my apocalypse fic! Please, tell me what you think, I'm expecting it to be my longest fic yet._

_ Thank you for reading!)_

"I understand this is a decision no one wants to make, _but it has to be done_."

A man stood at the front of a cold, dark room, one hand jammed deep in the pocket of his expensive suit and the other gesturing angrily at the dimly lit projector. He carried himself with the air of someone about to do the world a great civil service and talked in severe, clipped tones.

He was addressing a large gathering of men and women, similarly dressed in expensive suits and with expressions of either horror or dismay adorning their faces. They called themselves the Handlers, but that was just a name.

"Are you people even listening to me?" The man was becoming flustered now, a slight German accent creeping into his voice.

A woman with harsh black eyeliner and blood red lipstick raised her hand. "We are listening, we simply do not understand why this is at all necessary. It seems a bit drastic, no? It has been this way for a long, long time, why change it now?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Miss Moreau, we are entering a new era. An era in which wars can no longer be affected by emotions, an era where _the people _must be in control at all times. We can no longer leave our fates in the hands of _them_. After all, they are known to be exceedingly volatile, which is nevera good thing in times of war. Even more so now than ever, with nuclear weapons a very real threat." His argument was perfectly practiced, perfectly rehearsed. They had no choice but to agree with him.

The others shifted uncomfortably in their seats as his words began to have the desired effect. Doubt crept into their minds as they wondered if maybe this _was _the right thing to do.

Seeing he was beginning to win them over, the man at the projector smiled grimly. "Conflicts shouldn't be resolved according to _romantic attachments. _It's not like that incident with Northern Italy and . . . Germany at end of the last great war was exactly the first time. Norway and Denmark. Spain and Southern Italy. Do I even need to bring up America and Russia? All these tedious little romances that they form to keep themselves from sinking entirely into loneliness. We cannot let the world be governed by emotions that are so fragilely _human_."

A thin bespectacled man raised his hand. "But kill them? Are you sure that's the only way? _Can _they be killed?"

He scratched his goatee. "According to my sources, yes. Though I have a feeling they would be harder to dispatch then normal humans."

"Nor will they go down without a fight," volunteered someone from the back of the room.

"Wait a moment!" Miss Moreau stood, planting her hands on the table and leveling the man with a fierce glare. "Why are you talking as if you already intend to kill them? I, for one, am entirely against it! I have known France since I was a little girl and I respect and admire him more than any other. I am _certain _I am not the only person here who would agree to something such as this at the drop of a hat. Am I not right?"

The man laughed dryly. "Well, considering Mr. France's reputation, it would not come as any surprise to me that you were sleeping with him. No wonder you're so attached."

The whole room drew a collective breath, surprised at the man's unprofessionalism. They watched the exchange with a sense of dull horror, only really listening with half an ear. In their heads, ideas churned, tiny, uncomfortable ideas that were so disturbingly unpatriotic they wondered what would happen if they voiced them aloud.

_How easy are nations to kill?_

Moreau's face was red now and those around her shifted away unconsciously. "You know _nothing _about him," she hissed before taking her seat.

The man at the projector grinned smugly, observing the uncertainty on the others' faces. This was for the greater good, it _had _to be. He respected Germany as much as the other Handlers' respected their nations, but things simply could not continue the way they had since the dawn of time.

These were new times, drastic times and drastic times called for drastic measures.

Which is why he was certain the others would forgive him for what he was going to do.

"So," he stepped forward. "Have you all reached your decision? We shall decide this with a vote, as we decide our other affairs."

The American representative raised his hand. "This is lunacy. We can't decide this with a _vote. _This is_ murder. _Possibly of the highest degree one can commit. At least give us time to think it over. Or perhaps we could reach some sort of agreement with the nations. Even if we _did _agree to something like this, it would take years to put it into place."

The man shook his head solemnly. "The time for that has passed. I'm afraid you're going to have to make this decision _now._" He withdrew his smart phone from his pocket and switched it on with grin. "I have taken the liberty of placing a small, remotely controlled bomb underneath the conference room where the World Summit is being held at this very moment. Now please, _make your choice_. I can't have this postponed any longer."

"You're insane," breathed the American representative. He glanced around his fellow Handlers, saw the doubt in their eyes, and discreetly took out his phone.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" screeched Moreau. "Where did you . . . how did you get the permit for that? Stop it! Put that thing down! If you think that's going to pressure us into _murdering _our countries that you are very much mistaken!"

The rest of the Handlers quickly broke into heated chatter, panic lacing their words.

_ We can't actually kill them, right?_

_ That's an act of terrorism, right?_

_ This is wrong, this is so wrong._

_ Shouldn't we arrest him? We can't let him kill them._

_ But I can't lie . . . we've all been thinking the same thing, haven't we?_

The man from Germany breathed a shuddering sigh and allowed himself to think of his nation one last time before dispelling his face from his mind completely. He knew this was the right thing to do, he knew this was his _divine purpose. _To make the world a better, safer and altogether more predictable place.

This was not an act of terrorism. This was an act of _liberation._

Xxx

Germany was feeling very pleased with himself for a change. The World Summit was running in a delightfully smooth manner. The nations were giving their reports in an (mostly) orderly fashion, they were being (mostly) respectful of each other, France and England had even set aside their differences (mostly) to make this one of the productive world meetings in a long time. And all this had been accomplished with a remarkable lack of screaming on his part. Italy had been on a bathroom break for half an hour but Romano was more than capable of begrudgingly reporting in his place. He'd go look for him later, when this was all wrapped up.

America was in the middle of his report, updating them all on the status of his presidential election with surprisingly few references to robots and action movies for a change. His eyes gleamed excitedly behind his glasses while he talked, obviously thrilled to have the other nations' complete and undivided attention for once.

_"I want to be the very best, like no one ever was. To catch them is my real test, to train them is my causeeeee!" _America blanched and stopped mid sentence, hand straying to his pocket. Some of the other countries were sniggering while rest merely looked on in confusion and annoyance.

America slid the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen briefly, brow furrowing in concern. "It's . . . it's my Handler."

The smirks quickly slid off of everyone's faces to be replaced with expressions of mild alarm.

"What's going on, America?" asked Finland nervously. "Why is he calling you now of all times? That's against the law, isn't it?"

"You better answer," said France gravely and England nodded in affirmation.

"Go on America, we can wait."

America looked from them back to his phone before pressing the talk button and holding it up to his ear.

"Mr. Miles?" his voice was uncharacteristically respectful. Dude, er, _sir, _ why are you calling me now? Is there something wrong? You know you're not allowed to-"

"_America, you and the others need to leave the meeting right away. It's a matter of life and death. Get everyone out."_

"Wait, what? Miles, slow down, buddy. What're you talking about? Why do-"

_"Just get everyone out, you idiot! There's a bomb planted under the conference building, you need to leave now!" _There was a shout on the other end of line, then America's phone started buzzing loudly. He dropped it.

"Well, what is it?" Spain asked. Romano huddled a little closer to him, unease painting his features.

America narrowed his eyes and quickly got a grip on his fear. They needed him right now. "We need to get out immediately. We are under threat of a terrorist attack, they have planted a bomb under the building." His voice was strong and commanding and the other nations fell quiet under his gaze. This was where America truly shone; in times of crisis. This was when he could show the rest of the world that he _was _a hero.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get out! You know where the exits are and I don't know how much time we have!"

With that, his spell was broken and the gathered nations surged for the door in a wave of disorderly hysteria, grabbing the hands of their loved ones and holding them close. Chairs were overturned, important documents were scattered across the floor, but no one seemed to care.

All if this seemed as if it were occurring in the slow motion to Germany, or better yet, happening to an entirely other person. He opened his mouth to say something as Poland pushed past him, screaming for Lithuania, eyes wild with fear. He closed it again as a familiar sense of dread curled within his stomach and finally woke him from his stupor.

_Italy doesn't know._

Germany began to run, knocking over chairs and pushing past some of the slower nations. He thought he heard Austria calling for him, but he ignored it. Hungary could take care of him. He'd be fine.

He reached the end of the conference table closet to the door where everyone was streaming out (far too slowly in his opinion) and turned back to see if he could spot Italy in the crowd. The chandeliers hanging from the high-vaulted ceiling were beginning to shake and he could barely hear anything over the screams and cries.

"What's going on? What's happening?"

"Sweden! Sweden! _Sweden, where are you_?"

"Guys! Guys, I like, can't find Liet anywhere!"

Germany spotted an opening as the crowd began to thin and slipped through it. He thought he spotted a familiar hair curl, but then realized it was only Romano tugging Spain's arm and shouting wildly.

"Where is my brother? Where is he? Spain, dammit! Don't pick me up! We need to go back! We can't just . . . we can't just . . . _Spain!_"

Germany felt like he was going to be sick. He saw Hungary weaving through the crowd gathered in the hallway outside the conference room, face contorted into panic, but he could not focus on her and soon she faded back in among the faceless sea.

He opened his mouth to cry out for Italy when the double doors in front of him exploded into a ball of fire.

Xxx

"What are you _doing?_" Mr. Miles stopped mid-sentence. The German Handler stormed down from his perch in front of the Power Point and raced at him, eyes fixed on his cell phone.

_Shit. _

Mr. Miles took a step backwards as the other man grabbed the cell phone and threw it to the ground, crushing it beneath his heel. America's voice died away in a crackle of static.

The man stuck a finger in his face, other hand held aloft, clutching his phone tightly, finger resting mere centimeters from the screen. "Did you just call your country?"

Miles breathed a deep shuddering sigh and opened his mouth to reply before his gaze locked with the German's. His cold blue eyes were filled with insanity, like his mind was dangling on nothing but a spider's thread. Miles closed his mouth.

The man prodded him in the chest. "Well, _did_ you?"

The American's mouth curved into a small smile. In one deft movement, he elbowed the man in the stomach, knocked his phone out of his hand and snatched it from its free fall. He held it above his head in momentary triumph before throwing it at the ground where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

The rest of the Handlers went silent, all eyes fixed on the two men. This was completely unprecedented. No one was quite sure how to react. An act of violence from one Handler to another was tantamount to war.

Miles' smile began to fade slightly as the German made no move to retrieve the pieces of the phone, or even straighten from his doubled up position.

"What do you have to-" he began, before being cut off by a hollow chuckle.

"Oh, good job, good job, you must feel like quite the hero, now don't you?" the man wasn't even bothering to suppress his accent now and his words were clipped and sharp.

Miles said nothing.

The man stared up at him through his hair and laughed a little more. "Congratulations, you've just ensured that there is no way to stop the bomb. In fact, it should be going of in just a few seconds." His face clearly read, _I've won._

Just then, a low rumble shook the building before fading away. Miles' eyes widened in horror. "No . . ."

And the German man simply laughed and laughed and laughed because he had finally done it. He had finally taken the first steps toward a perfect world.

The muzzle of Miles' gun in his face meant nothing to him, that was just a technicality. Now that the catalyst had been ignited the world could only change in his favor. He could see the other Handler's faces as their horror slowly drained away and took the form of something akin to relief.

The nations' era had come to an end, and he knew, as the Dutch handler stepped in and grabbed the pistol away, that the world was more than willing to accept the change.


	2. Beginning of the End

Books and movies often portray explosions as large, spectacular flashes of fire and light. They are, indeed, large spectacular flashes of fire and light, but only to those lucky enough to be standing outside of the blast radius.

To Germany, it was nothing but shimmering heat that rushed towards him in a wave. The whiteness seared itself into his eyes. He threw himself down, hoping to avoid the brunt of the blast.

He nearly wasn't fast enough; the heat grazed over him as he threw up his hands in front of his face. He could dimly hear screaming in the background, anguished, pained screaming. Voices called out before being abruptly silenced and large thuds nearly punctured Germany's ear drums as what he assumed were pieces of debris crashed into the ground around them and tore holes in the walls of corridor. Under all the chaos was the faint sound of a fire coming to life, whispering demonically as it forced Germany to open his eyes.

"Help! _Help! _Germany, help me! Germany, I can't see!" an all-too familiar voice faded away into incoherent sobbing that seemed to stand out among the cacophony of shouts.

Germany pushed himself to his feet, wondering if he should feel relieved or panicked, decided on both, and forced himself to hobble towards the sound of Italy's voice.

He did his best to ignore the flames and the twisted shadows on the walls.

Xxx

He knew he should have stayed at the World Meeting. He knew he should have. This was God's way of punishing him for his laziness, wasn't it? Italy opened his mouth to try and scream again but instead coughed up a phlegm of congealed black soot onto his lap.

His arm didn't hurt anymore, and he thought he should be relieved. Instead he was even more terrified. He had gathered enough injuries to understand that the pain didn't subside that easily without medication, and if it did, that meant there was something terribly wrong.

Italy willed himself to keep his eyes closed, usually an easy task, but it was becoming difficult to resist the urge to peek at his arm and leg.

He could at least feel his leg, thought it was quickly numbing as his nerves simply began to shut themselves down. He wondered if they would have to amputate. Did country's limbs grow back like starfish? Probably not. He would have heard of it by now.

He imagined doctors with saws hacking off his limbs and vomited again as a flare of pain consumed his leg.

"_Italiaaaaaaa!_"

Again, it took a concentrated effort not to open his eyes. He wondered why he even bothered. Nothing could be as bad as what his imagination had dreamt up.

Italy cracked one of his eyes open to try and catch a glimpse of Germany's muscular form coming to rescue him. It was hard to see with all this smoke, though. And fire, lots of fire. He thought he could see bodies and nations running frantically back and forth. He opened his left eye and was shocked and terrified to find only blackness.

_Nothing happened to my eye, right?_ Now he wasn't so sure, so he closed both of them for good measure.

His left eye wouldn't close now. Not that it made a difference, but he could actually feel his eye lid catching on something. Something sharp.

_Something protruding from my eye?_

Italy felt like he might be sick again.

"Italy! Italy, are you alright? Italy, I . . . oh, God, no."

And there was Germany, coming to his rescue, the way he always did and always would. The way the man's usually clear voice trailed off at the end left him feeling ever so slightly hollow, however.

"Germany . . ." he croaked. He coughed a bit and blood spilled from his lips, running down his chin to further stain his jacket.

_As long as I don't open my eyes . . . _What? As long as he didn't open his eyes, what? What could possibly improve this situation? He wondered vaguely if now would be a good time to cry but decided against it.

_Am I dying?_

The last thing he heard was Germany's strangled cry before he succumbed to a deep and dreamless sleep.

Xxx

Germany choked back bile and told himself repeatedly that he'd seen worse. He'd seen worse in his time. He had . . . he had . . .

He hadn't seen worse. He hadn't seen anything even close to this, especially not when it was his dearest and closest friend who was in pain.

Italy was propped up against a pile of rubble, limbs spread-eagled. A wooden support beam had fallen on his right leg, trapping it. Germany was fairly certain it must have been broken in at least half a dozen places. His head, matted with plaster and blood, lolled slightly to the left. One of his hazel eyes was tightly closed and encrusted in a film of blood. A large shard of glass was lodged in the other and the left side of his face was completely obscured by crimson.

His arm, however, his arm was the worst. One of the thick, bulletproof windows had been dislodged from its place in the wall above the meeting room's doors and had come down right on Italy's shoulder. It had shorn it completely off and both the bloody window and missing limb were lying next to him.

Germany started to step forward, then stopped himself. He couldn't help his friend now; there was too much danger of him injuring Italy even more than he already was. It would take at least two strong men to lift the beam.

He glanced at the stump briefly and deduced that no tourniquet would be needed at the moment. Nation's clot much faster than humans, so the bleeding had nearly completely subsided.

Germany was struggling to look at this objectively. All he could think of was the pain and terror Italy must have felt as the explosion tore the building apart, trapping him under the rubble.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Germany forced himself to turn away. The best thing he could do right now was to contact the authorities.

Hungary was screaming his name, but he couldn't face her right now. Instead, he began to push through the crowd, remembering to keep his eyes firmly locked on the flickering exit sign at the end of the hallway.

If he had looked, he would have thrown up.

Xxx

"Liet! Liet, like, this isn't funny anymore! Get up! Come on, Liet!" Poland was leaning over Lithuania's body, shaking his shoulders frantically. He had found Lithuania half buried in a pile of debris and had managed to pull him out onto the tile floor. Blood blossomed under his white dress shirt and seeped through the fabric onto Poland's hands. Poland tried to ignore that, tears welling in his eyes.

"Liet! If you don't, like, wake up _right now _I am totally never playing chess with you _ever again_!"

To his relief, Lithuania's eyelids fluttered, than opened slightly.

"Po . . ."

Poland choked back tears. "Liet . . . Liet are you okay?"

Lithuania moaned and shifted his head to look down at the stain on his shirt. "Poland, I think I'm dying." He did not say it sadly, he said it in the slightly exhausted tone of one who has seen far too much of the world and its cruelties.

Poland grabbed his shirt angrily. "Don't say such stupid things! Of course you're not going to die! You're a nation! Nations don't die that easily!" His voice had taken on a slightly desperate edge.

Lithuania grimaced. "Lift up my shirt, Po."

Poland did.

Then he put it back again. His hands were shaking like an addicts, and tears were falling from his eyes onto the Lithuania's collar.

"Liet . . ." he said softly, pausing momentarily as his friend let out a bloody cough. "Liet, you can't leave! I still . . . I still need you!"

Lithuania breathed deeply and mustered a small smile. "It makes me very happy to hear you say that. but it's not true. You don't need me. You never needed me. You can do just fine on your own. I believe in you."

Poland shook his head furiously, he could feel his throat closing up. "Liet, I, like, love you!"

Oh, god, he wished he'd said it sooner. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. The proclamation was more forceful than he had originally intended, as if saying it loudly enough would somehow reverse the tragedy unfolding under his hands.

Lithuania looked momentarily shocked, before the tenseness in his face melted away completely. "I love you too, Po."

Choking back a sob, Poland leaned down and kissed Lithuania for what he knew would be the first and last time.

He tasted like buttermilk, and then he was gone.

Xxx

No matter how loud Hungary screamed and shouted, no one came. The maelstrom of bodies around her were preoccupied with their own difficulties and had no time to stop and help her.

She tried calling for Germany, but he either didn't hear her or wouldn't come. After awhile, she couldn't even hear the voices echoing around her. She barely noticed the chaos. The only reality that she knew was the broken sound of her own cries and the body of her once upon a time husband sprawled in front of her.

He was dead, she was quite certain of it. And with that certainty came panic as her mind desperately tried to scab over the wound the sight she had just witnessed had left on her.

_Austria is dead because I wasn't there to protect him._

If in life he looked like a saint, in death he seemed an angel. His clothes were barely even tattered or singed and his glasses were only slightly askew. The only part of him that was damaged, however, was awful enough to counterbalance the rest of them.

A metal beam was sticking straight of his heart. It had fallen from the ceiling and struck him down while she watched. Pierced him cleanly through the chest and pinned him to the ground like a moth on the edge of a knife. His blood was everywhere and Hungary, Macbeth's guilty wife, could not wipe it from her hands because she had not saved him.

For a moment, she tried to wrap her mind around the possibility of a life without him, without hearing his music every day and visiting him and Prussia and eating his cakes and watching him mend her clothes. She decided that it would drive her mad so she gave up and merely cradled him to her chest instead.

_This is the end of the world and I am not okay._

Xxx

The hallway was a battlefield where there was no enemies, only causalities.

Poland and Hungary cried for their loved ones. Others, too, were being forced to stare death straight in the face. Others lay crippled on the floor, trying to lift themselves and realizing they could not. Some searched for those they had lost.

Netherlands wandered through the mess with a heavy heart.

Spain and Romano held each other tightly and pretended that they would never have to let go.

Finland and Sweden fell sobbing into each other's arms.

And America fell to the floor in anguish, because he realized he wasn't good enough. He couldn't save everybody and that was all he had ever wanted.

And outside, a storm was brewing.

The worst was yet to come.


	3. Black Planet

He was alone, and somehow, he knew that that was all he would ever be.

There was cake on the counter, rich and creamy. Austria had brought it over. Not for him of course. For West. To repay some favor, probably. Or as a half-hearted plea for more money. In any case, Austria certainly wouldn't mind if he helped himself to some.

He took another swig of his beer. It was somehow not as satisfying as it used to be and Prussia wiped his mouth with his sleeve in dissatisfaction before tossing it behind his shoulder. He couldn't care less that it was half-full and probably splattered all over West's precious carpet. He was angry and that was the only way he could express it.

_It's not fair,_ he thought, _It's not fair that I'm not allowed to go to those damn meetings anymore._

Instead his was left behind to 'house-sit.' What a load of bull. West hadn't even wanted to trust him with the car keys and had sent the dogs to kennels.

Prussia picked up the cake and brought it over to the couch where he began eating. It was delicious of course, Austria's cakes always were. The little prince might have been useless in other areas, but damn could he make a pastry. "Sometimes I think I almost miss him," he breathed softly.

He grimaced. Good God, if anyone had heard him say that . . . He swallowed thickly before reaching for the remote. Television would take his mind off the loneliness. He turned his head to stare at his computer. Maybe after he could get out some ice cream and update his blog for the first time in forever.

He picked at his caked listlessly before switching the T.V. on. The sharp rattle of gunfire filled the once-empty room and Prussia froze for a moment, heart palpitating wildly. Visions of death and blood filled his mind's eye and he quickly snatched the remote up, pushing buttons frantically until the sounds subsided.

With shaking hands, Prussia dropped the remote back onto the couch and sunk back into the cushions. He pressed his palms against his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.

He laughed suddenly, a short, barking cackle that reverberated through the halls of the empty house.

"I'm never going to get better, am I?" The thought scared him a bit and he trailed off as the announcer on the news station he had accidentally flipped began to speak loudly and urgently.

"_Please remember, if you spot one of 'those people' please report to the authorities immediately. They are dangerous and possibly armed. Those who resist the cleansing can and will be detained or killed if deemed necessary._

_ Wherever you are, we will find you."_

Prussia gaped at the screen as it switched to show a building in flames somewhere in America. Tiny black figures that looked like ants were pouring out only to meet another crowd of dots.

"_West_," he hissed and picked up his phone.

Xxx

Germany's cell phone began to ring, but he ignored it. He stumbled out of the burning building and into the rain that had just begun to fall.

Russia and China were there too, standing close together, faces adorned with matching expressions of defiance. Behind them were two micronations, Kugelmugel and Wy, clinging to each other and crying into the back of Russia's shirt. Germany felt even worse than he had before.

Kugelmugel noticed him and started calling for him, over and over again, asking where Austria was. Germany made a move to go over to him when he looked up and realized what Russia and China were trying to protect the young ones from.

There were humans advancing on them, riot shields held aloft. Their guns were pointed at the motley assembly of nations stumbling into the parking lot.

Germany held up his hands placatingly. "I'm sure there has been some terrible mistake here. We have just been the victims of a perceived terrorist attack, possibly due to the actions of rogue Handlers. Many of us are injured, hurt or dying and medical assistance would be appreciated. So if you would put your guns-"

There was a loud crack and Germany stumbled back a few paces, hand flying to his shoulder as he hissed in agony.

One of the men was trembling, gun held out in front of him. He looked like he was about to break formation and run but the soldier beside him muttered something into his ear and he slowly lowered his gun.

Germany ripped the bullet from he already-closing wound and blood spurted out onto the pavement. Wy began to cry softly and China grasped her hand.

"Don't you dare move!" one of the men shouted at Germany. "We are under strict orders to bring you in for execution. If not, we _will _exterminate you here and now!"

Russia turned his head with a small, sad smile. "Mr. Germany. Please take the young ones and get them inside. China and I will handle these men, yes? I would suggest you simply move Mr. Italy yourself, as I suspect no medical help will be forthcoming. I have seen him and I think that perhaps it would be best just to leave and not let him take in any more of the smoke."

Germany nodded slowly and Kugelmugel and Wy and ran to his side. Russia flashed him a grin and rested a gloved hand on China's head.

"We are not going to die here, China. Now run, Mr. Germany. Run!"

Germany shouldered Kugelmugel and grabbed Wy's hand in one fluid motion. He began to run back to the entrance of the office building. Australia and New Zealand were standing at the door, covered in blood and dust.

Russia and China gave the men quickly closing in on them their full attention. Germany spared one last glance at them as he hurried inside and saw them quickly moving to block the soldiers from shooting at the micronations. Silhouetted by the sun and drenched in the pouring rain, they almost looked like heroes, whatever their pasts had been. They were redeeming themselves the only way they knew how, by fighting to the very last.

Russia's coat and scarf billowed out behind him and he started to laugh, raising his fist to the sky. The soldier who had shot Germany shuddered involuntarily. After a moment, China began to laugh too, more of a dry snort. He lifted his hands into a basic martial arts stance. Thunder sounded in the distance and you could smell the fear on the men. They suddenly understood why no one killed nations. They suddenly knew what it meant to live forever.

Germany ducked into the theatre along with a Australia and New Zealand who had tried to wander outside. Gun shots sounded behind him, sharp, fast and clean with efficiency brought on by the fear of an ancient enemy.

That was the last time Germany saw either Russia or China.

xxx

Australia and New Zealand knelt beside Wy as she detached herself from Germany. The blonde nation ran off with Kugelmugel on his back, shouting into the din that _no one_ must go out the front door and that everyone must evacuate _immediately_.

She clung toboth of them and they exchanged glances that spoke volumes. Whatever history between them could be ignored and forgotten, at least for now. Right now, a little girl who looked up to them needed to be held and comforted. She needed to be assured that the world wasn't falling down around their heads.

But neither, despite their differences, believed in lying.

So instead they didn't say anything. Australia wiped the soot from New Zealand's face and cracked a smile. "We better get out of here, huh? I bet they're surrounding the building as we speak."

New Zealand was quiet for a moment before giving him a tired smile and hoisting Wy to her feet. "Yes, I believe it's time to go."

"Where's Sealand? Where's Seborga and Ladonia? Where are my friends?" Wy mumbled into his shoulder. New Zealand's stomach twisted and Australia's eyes widened slightly. Both were briefly assaulted by the image of a boy with a streak of paint across his face lying in a pool of blood, his golden apple pin shining in the light of the slowly subsiding fires.

New Zealand pressed a kiss to her forehead and started to walk towards the exit.

"I'm sure they're fine."

The lie was bitter on his tongue.

xxx

Prussia jammed some sun glasses on to conceal his red eyes and slapped on a scally cap to disguise his shock of spiky white hair. If what he had seen was the truth, he wouldn't be able to stay there much longer.

Besides, West needed his big brother.

He kicked open the front door to see cars crawling down his driveway. He didn't recognized the logos of the German police force, which he figured was probably a bad sign.

_Shit. _He slammed the door and hurried to the back of the house. The TV was still on and the reporter was speaking excitedly about two rogue nations who had attacked and killed ten officers in the parking lot of the building before being eventually gunned down. Prussia didn't stop to see who the two were. He'd go insane if West was dead.

He cautiously opened the back door and looked around. Nothing seemed amiss among the wide expanse of perfectly trimmed green lawn and there was nowhere for a potential ambusher to hide aside from the sparse hedges that lined the driveway. Prussia frowned and did a ninja roll across the grass before realizing it was pointless and standing up again. The sound of a doorbell ringing repeatedly could be heard faintly in the house.

"How the hell am I gonna get outta here?" he breathed. He leapt over the bushes bordering the driveway and landed neatly next to West's fancy German-made car. He patted the keys in his back pocket and began to grin.

_You just saved my ass, little bro._

Xxx

The Mercedes was a nice car, Prussia could at least ascertain that. He couldn't tell you what model it was or how much it cost, or even that his brother had done extensive remodeling on it, but he knew that it was a nice car and West was going to be pissed when he found out he took it. Prussia adjusted the mirror and grinned at his reflection. Whatever. West would probably be thanking him later once he found out his awesome big brother had gone all the way to America to save him.

"It's like riding a bike," he muttered to himself, grasping what he though was called the gearshift. But he had never ridden a bike before and he had never driven a car either so the phrase was a little redundant.

He inched his foot over what he assumed to be the gas and shot a glance at the men that were now streaming out of the back door like ants. One of them shouted something and the rest began to move towards their abandoned vehicles.

Prussia grinned and floored it.

The car raced backwards and hit a tree. Swearing audibly, Prussia moved his foot to the other pedal and floored _that _one. In a matter of seconds, he was speeding down the driveway the correct way.

"Nice acceleration," he muttered appreciatively, swerving to avoid one of the police cars. He didn't really understand what it meant, but West often spoke of it. He pressed harder on the gas pedal as he approached the front of the house. Behind him, he could hear shouting and the sound of cars starting up. The Mercedes zoomed into the street, tires screeching as he quickly turned a corner and began to race away. The other cars quickly followed, but if he knew West, they wouldn't be able to match his speed by a long shot.

Of course, the usefulness of that feature was debatable when everyone in the world was suddenly out to get you.

He whooped suddenly, lifting one hand from the steering will to make a fist. It had been such a long time since he had felt so alive.

"I'm going to America, baby!"

_a/n Wow I kinda suck, huh? Sorry for the super long hiatus. I've been extra busy lately but hopefully after this update I'll be back on track._

_ Mmm, I'm not sure how great this chapter is. It's more just setting stuff up but oh well. They needed to get out of that burning building somehow._

_ As always, your reviews are appreciated!_


End file.
